Kiss From A Stranger
by the-she-celt
Summary: Tom Branson will stoop to low standards for his favourite band, Sybil Crawley hasn't properly slept in way-too-long, and Thomas Barrow unabashedly takes advantage of everyone and everything for the sake of fifty measly quid. There are no morals at uni. Modern AU; warning for fluff!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: the majority of the Branson stories that I've been working on for the past few months have been one angst-ridden train after another, or they're full of incredibly delicate scenes that force me to really concentrate on writing. This, on the other hand, was written in one sitting after I actually saw the Oxford "First Kiss" video a few months ago, and then I found it hiding on my desktop at last. It's a fluffy little bit of stuff, and I dedicate it to all my fellow Branson fans who have stayed so loyally by my side. You know who you are xxx **

**Enjoy!**

The sun was barely yawning its way over the horizon when Tom left the gym, and the air was still chilly. A bitter October wind snapped at his cheeks, and he zipped his hoodie up to his chin, shivering. Droplets of hair were dancing merrily down his neck as though enjoying freezing on his skin, and the weather seemed to have woken up in a bad mood, for the sky promised heavy rain and no chance of any warmth. There were times when he really loathed attending university in England.

Trainers squelching in the grass, he started across the lawn towards the lights of the dining hall, glimmering in the distance. His stomach was whining like a kicked puppy, and his mind was full of thoughts of hot coffee when another body collided with his side. He yelped at the impact.

"Tommy, my man, where've you been?"

"Morning, Thomas." he groaned in response, scrubbing the sleep from his eyes with one hand. Thomas Barrow chuckled, looping an arm around the shorter man's neck and tousling his hair.

"Early bird gets the worm, huh?"

"I was training." Tom replied. "Rowing starts in a few weeks."

Thomas wrinkled his nose. "You smell of chlorine. Were you swimming?"

"Yeah, and the pool was bloody freezing."

"It's not in the afternoon—you know, that time of day when _sane_ people train."

"And the time of day when it's most crowded."

"You just like getting up at the crack of dawn, you mad bastard." Thomas scoffed, relaxing his grip on Tom's throat and letting his arm hang around his mate's shoulder. Tom shrugged.

"Can't seem to kick the habit."

"Try harder, it's a bad one. You look half-dead."

"Full of compliments as ever, I see." Tom rolled his eyes. "Didn't you say last week that you were going to try to be nicer to people?"

"Only in Drama class." Thomas corrected him.

"Right—only where you can impress a certain blond with your charms, huh?"

Thomas groaned. "Never should've told you about him, there's no living with you these days."

"You're a coward, do you know that?" Tom elbowed him in the ribs. "You like the guy! Go and talk to him once in a while!"

"Too obvious. I like to be mysterious." Thomas swung his arm back to his side and began to dig around in his shoulder bag, brow furrowed. Tom groaned inwardly. It had been two months since Thomas had pointed out the slim, golden-haired object of his affections, and the dark-haired smoker was still no closer to making a move, despite the fact that his crush was wildly popular with both the men and women of Oxford. He hadn't been attached to anyone yet, but it surely wouldn't be long, with his sunny looks and lopsided smirk.

"If you're too _mysterious,_ he'll be snapped up before you even learn his name." Tom remarked, voice forcibly casual. Thomas didn't answer, but the crease between his eyebrows furrowed all the more. Tom bit the inside of his cheek. It wasn't like Thomas to be nervous about approaching boys; usually, he was all swagger and cocky smirk, and they jumped at the chance to so much as hold his hand. Why he was suddenly so tongue-tied about a pretty blond boy was a mystery, and it rankled Tom like a sore tooth. "Thomas—"

"Ah, shut up about it for a minute. I'm being nice, remember?" Thomas bared his teeth in a forced grin. "I'm devoting my morning to _your _love life, now thank me for it, damn your eyes."

"_My _love life?"

"It's a joke, Tom. When did you last go out with a girl? Or a boy—has your taste changed?"

Tom snorted. "September. I took Bridget Mahoney to the cinema."

"And Bridget Mahoney didn't even kiss you for it." Thomas rolled his eyes. "You need some TLC, my friend."

"Why do you care about my love life all of a sudden?"

"You're my best mate!"

"And therefore I know that you're an opportunist who never does anything for anyone unless there's some sort of reward involved." Tom planted his feet and folded his arms, raising one eyebrow at his friend.

Thomas slapped a hand over his heart. "You wound me, Tommy boy!"

"Spare the dramatics and just tell me what you want."

Thomas bit his lip. "_Fine_. You know the "First Kiss" video?"

"The what?"

Thomas stared. "When were you last online?"

"Last night, reading _The Guardian._"

"I'm not talking about newspapers, I'm talking about YouTube!"

Tom shrugged.

"Twitter? Tumblr? _Facebook?"_ Thomas' eyes grew wider and wider with each shake of Tom's head. "Holy shit, I didn't realize you switched majors to Professional Hermit!"

"I've been incredibly busy this past month—"

"Details of your sordidly incorruptible life do not interest me." Thomas snapped. "The "First Kiss" video documents pairs of strangers kissing for the first time, and since it was uploaded, every university in the world has started copying it."

"Including Oxford?"

"We planned it yesterday in Film; everyone's going to try and document as many as possible—"

"No, oh, please no."

"Come on, please?"

"No!" Tom resumed his pace towards the dining hall. "I can't believe anyone would agree to that, no!"

"You _need_ some—"

"Having some stranger's tongue halfway down my throat is _not_ TLC, you git! No, I won't do it!" Tom sped up, leaving his friend behind. He heard a long-suffering sigh behind him.

"Oh, Tommy…I didn't want to have to do this."

"Do _what?"_ He whirled on his heel to see Thomas shaking his head, mouth drooping, as he reached into the pocket of his hoodie. "What are you—"

His jaw plummeted as Thomas waved the contents of his hand in the air. "Are those…those aren't…"

"Two tickets to the U2 concert next week? Yes, my boy, I'm afraid they are."

"How the hell did you get those? They're sold out!"

"Ah, yes, well, you remember that ginger I had a fling with, a few months ago?"

Tom frowned. "Alfred Nugent? The intern?"

"The very same. Sweet boy. Well, he's working for the McHann Concert Hall just now, and I _may _have rung him up last night."

"And he just _gave _those two you?"

"Well, I might've mentioned that I was planning to attend, and couldn't wait to see him. I might've proposed sneaking into his ticket manager's box for a snog. And he might've audibly retched at the idea and promised me two tickets if I'd come 'with another freak', rather than ruin his precious reputation."

Tom's stomach twisted. "Did that bastard actually say that?"

"Oh, yeah. He'll claim he's straight until his dying day, even though I'm _still_ cleaning my blue sheets after he came all over them—anyway, the point is, I've got tickets to a show. And since I'm currently single, I'd give the second ticket to my best mate…"

"If I kiss a random stranger."

"We'll make sure she hasn't any infectious diseases!"

Tom's face fell into his hands. "Oh, _God, _I hate you."

"Go to confession this minute, you blasphemer."

"You're grinning. I can hear you grinning." Tom informed his palms.

"Like the Chesire Cat."

"If you ever actually read Carroll, I'm a monkey's uncle." Sighing, Tom straightened. "Alright, you prat. I'll do it."

"HA!" Punching the air, Thomas slung his arm through Tom's and yanked him onward. "C'mon then! No time like present!"

"Stope whining, it's your own goddamned fault that your feet hurt." Thomas snapped, flipping his fringe off his forehead and glowering at the muddy-colored sky overhead. "How do you know _everyone_ on this campus?"

"I'm in a lot of clubs." Tom groaned, leaning against the wall of the library. He shifted his weight from right to left, trying to relieve the ache in his feet.

"Tell me about it. Damn you for being such an outgoing bastard." Thomas grumbled. "Four hours, and not a single stranger for you to kiss."

Tom let his head fall back against the wall. They'd walked all over the campus, first for an hour after what had to be the fastest breakfast ever eaten by a human being, then for three hours once their classes ended for the day, through spitting rain and permanent chilliness. His socks were soaked through, his stomach was complaining again, and he was desperate for a cup of tea. He rolled his gaze sideways; Thomas' eyeliner was running, and his shoulders were slumped.

"Come on." he said, heaving himself upright. "Let's go back. I'll make some tea, and we can watch _Doctor Who_ for the rest of the night."

"Yeah, let's." Thomas sighed. "Tennant may be able to assuage my disappointment."

"Whenever you start talking like a nob, I know you need sugar." Tom pulled his friend off the wall and in the direction of the dorms. "We'll get something at the dining hall."

The two men trudged along the pavement, around the corner, and towards their initial starting point across the lawn from the dining hall. They were passing the front doors of the library when a voice hailed them.

"Hi, Thomas."

The dark-haired man didn't even raise his gaze from his feet, just lifted two fingers in an exhausted salute. Tom trudged onwards. _What'll I have for dinner…Thai? No, I had Thai on Wednesday…Chinese? Chinese might be good…_

"How about Chinese tonight?" he inquired. When there was no answer, he turned.

Thomas had stopped in the middle of the pavement. His entire posture had transformed; he stood erect, head up, eyes suddenly afire with excitement. When Tom raised an eyebrow, Thomas beckoned him back with rapid fluttering of the hands. Tom returned to have his arm seized and was swung rapidly around to face the front doors of the library.

"Tom Branson, Sybil Crawley." Thomas exclaimed, frog-marching them towards the young woman sitting cross-legged on the broad stone border of the steps. "I don't believe you've met."

"Oh, good God." Tom mumbled under his breath.

Sybil looked up at the sound of her name. She was halfway through a passage detailing the precise nature of a gangrene-infected knee, and was wrestling to keep her lunch inside her stomach. It was jarring to see Thomas grinning like a maniac, striding towards her with one hand wrapped firmly around the forearm of the man beside him.

"Sorry?" she asked, rubbing her forehead. She could feel knots tying themselves together beneath her temples. Her eyes were smarting after three sleepless nights, and her stomach ached. She wanted to go back to bed, curl up under the covers with a pound or two of chocolate, and cry over some God-awful romance movie. But tomorrow, Dr. Clarkson would be bringing the first-year medical students before an untouched cadaver and expect them to be able to correctly identify all parts of the body's muscles, tendons, major veins, bones, and organs, as well as the cause of death. She had no time for self-pity, and certainly no time for Mother Nature's sadism, so she'd hauled herself off to the library this morning and was making do with yoga pants and a Thermos full of tea.

"This is Tom Branson, my best mate." Thomas announced, pulling the other forwards. Sybil pulled her lips upwards in a smile and reached down from her perch to shake hands.

"Sybil Crawley. Pleasure."

"Likewise." His fingers grasped hers, and her eyes, which had been sneakily eyeing her book, shot upwards as sudden warmth flooded her skin. _Oooh…_

He was a few inches shorter than Thomas, and clad in worn jeans and a grey hoodie. His skin was sprinkled with a few cinnamon-colored freckles, locks of shaggy hair the color of dark honey fell over his forehead. His eyes sparkled like midnight stars, the brightest blue she'd ever seen.

"Tom here has a…a proposition for you, Syb."

"Oi, don't pin this one on me." Tom protested, elbowing Thomas and releasing Sybil's hand. Her fingers shivered, cold. "It was _his_ idea." he informed her, looking up at her with those brilliant eyes, then back at his mate. "Go on. _You _tell her."

"Ugh, fine." Thomas smiled at Sybil, sweet as a cobra. "How're you, Syb? Bit tired?"

"Is it that obvious?" she quipped.

"Your hair gave it away."

"My hair?"

"It's flat." Thomas raised a knowing eyebrow. "That means it hasn't touched a pillow in a few days. Have you been spending a few nights at the library?"

"Guilty as charged." Sybil shoved a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The usually sprightly curls hung limp and defeated. "I'm too busy for a nap."

"Lord, you're just like Tom here." Thomas shoved Tom's shoulder, playful. "Up at the crack of dawn, he was, and off to the gym to train—he's on the rowing team, don'cha know—didn't even have breakfast…isn't that impressive?"

"If you're planning to get me to go on a sympathy date, you can save your breath. I'm going to ace this test tomorrow, then I'm sleeping straight through the weekend." she said firmly.

"Nope, it's better than that!" Thomas grinned.

"Worse." Tom insisted. He offered a conciliatory smile at Sybil. "Um, do you know the "First Kiss" video?"

She nodded; Gwen, a grinning, bubbly mix of strangers-kissing-induced emotions, had forced it upon her last Tuesday.

"Well, Thomas is trying to recreate it."

"Come again?"

"He's trying to recreate it. Here. At Oxford."

Blood flew into her cheeks. "_What?"_

"That sounds exactly like what _you_ said this morning!" Thomas moaned, shoving Tom's shoulder. "Why is everyone so opposed to the idea of kissing a stranger?"

"One, infectious diseases. Two, gross. Three, personal boundaries. Four, common courtesy and self-respect. Five—"

"Rhetorical question, Syb." Thomas snapped. He glowered at her, then swung his burning gaze toTom. "Come on, you two!"

"I don't want to." Sybil snapped. "I don't like forced intimacy, and this is the most intimate thing to do in public—"

"Well—"

"Shut _up_, Thomas, it's the most intimate thing you can do without being arrested, and it seems uncomfortable and awkward, and frankly, I know you've never had to worry about this, but we girls have to worry about being groped by strangers when we walk down the _street_, let alone this! No, you're insane, I won't do it."

"Oh, _please._" Thomas begged. "It's a contest in Film to see who can get the most couples on film, and the prize is fifty pounds, and I'm flat broke, _please._"

"NO."

"Syb—"

"No." She gazed narrow-eyed at Tom. "_You_ can go get your quick thrills somewhere else."

"That's not why I'm doing this!"

"Oh, _really?"_

"I'm…" Color flooded his cheeks. "I…I love U2."

"You—what?"

"Thomas has two tickets to the U2 concert next week, and he'll give me one if I do this."

"You're doing this for a _concert ticket?"_

"Listen, I've never seen a concert, ever, and U2 is my favorite band. This is practically a once-in-a-lifetime chance for me, and yeah, I'll kiss a stranger if I have to."

"A stranger?" Sybil could feel herself starting to grin. "Not even a stranger girl—you'd kiss a strange man?"

"For U2, anything." he declared, hand held over heart in a dramatic pose. A snigger escaped her mouth.

"Live a little, Syb?" Thomas pleaded, batting his eyes. Her smile disappeared; he was smiling ever so slightly, as if to say 'we got her!'.

"The inherent subjugation of women to the roles of men's sexual playthings as exemplified in the setting of a man asking a strange woman for a kiss and she feeling obliged to accept is not an opportunity to 'live a little'." Sybil hissed, glaring at the two men. Thomas actually shrank backwards, wincing. Tom's eyes widened.

"Damn." he whispered after a long moment of silence. Sybil's gaze flew back to him. A tiny smile curved the corner of his mouth. "You're incredible, Sybil Crawley."

She lifted one eyebrow. "Because I refuse to be objectified like this?"

"No, because you speak your mind. It's impressive, not many people do." He took a step closer. "Sybil, I swear to you that I respect you more than I can describe in one sentence, that I find you admirable beyond description, and that I shall convey my regards physically in the most gentlemanly way possible."

She lifted one eyebrow. He held up both hands in surrender. "I will _only_ touch your head, waist, and back; nowhere else. I give you my word."

_Oh, Lord, I must be insane to even consider this!_ She lifted her chin. "I have neither showered nor slept in a bed in three days. I just finished drinking black tea, and I'm a mess in every sense of the word."

He snorted. "You're gorgeous, don't be ridiculous. I'm a sopping mess; I've been rained on all day."

"Oh, you're stunning, don't be ridiculous." she parroted. There was a distinctly warm blush rising in her chest—he'd called her gorgeous. _Oh, what are you, twelve?_

She tapped her chin faux-seriously, weighing her options. On the con side of the list, there was objectification, possible humiliation, her crippling self-esteem due to her distinctly unappealing appearance, and the possibility that Tom Branson was not a man of his word. On the pro side, there was the possibility of a bit of fun, the fact that he'd signed himself up for any discomfort—he'd seen her, after all, and was still gung ho—her fairly impressive skills as a kisser, and her martial arts training—just in case. And he was ridiculously attractive. And clearly intelligent. And looking incredibly fit in his post-workout, rain-soaked state.

"Oh, what the hell." she sighed, slapping her book shut. Uncrossing her legs, she stretched out her cramped limbs.

"Can I lend a hand?" Tom asked, holding his arms up to her. She reached for his hands, but he placed both on her waist and smoothly lifted her down and onto her feet. She could feel shoulder muscles flexing beneath her hands.

"Oh, _smooth_." Thomas remarked. Tom rolled his eyes.

"Set up the camera and stop giving us marks, Thomas."

"Fine, Casanova." Rolling his own eyes, Thomas opened the straps of his bag and withdrew stand and camera. Sybil focused her gaze on his hands as he erected the stand, trying not to shift her weight. Her palms felt sweaty, mouth dry. Standing straight, head up, she was only a few inches shorter than Tom. She left her hands draped loosely upon his shoulders, and his stayed, soft and warm, on her waist. His breaths were warm on her cheek. Her head spun, and she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek.

"So, how has your day been?" he inquired, voice light.

Her head swung around and she blinked at him. "Sorry?"

"Go easy on me, there's no guidebook for casual conversation at these moments." he said with a shrug.

"I believe the classic course of action is whispering sweet nothings in my ear." she quipped.

"Remind me to try that next time."

"Will do…Casanova."

"Oi, not you too!" he whined as Thomas snorted with laughter. "And hush, you moron!"

Sniggering, Thomas switched on the camera, and Sybil felt her stomach flip upside-down at the glowing blue light on the front of it.

"Alright, whenever you're ready." he said. Sybil swallowed.

"Ready?" Tom asked. His voice was soft, and it sent velvety shivers down her spine.

She thrust her chin up and met his gaze unflinching. "Indeed."

She waited for his lips to descend to hers…but they didn't. instead, his left hand lay soft on her waist while his right reached up. Two fingers stroked her chin softly, then tipped it up. Her eyelids slid shut as her chin rose, and he pressed his mouth to hers.

_Oh._ Soft. Warm. Smooth. She inhaled, and his smell of chlorine, honey, tea, paper, oil—oil?—made her head spin. She pressed her lips to his, harder, wanting more. When his lips refused to move, and the only movement from him was an abrupt expanding of his chest—_oh, yum—_as he breathed in, she slid her hand from his shoulder to his neck, wrapped her fingers in the neckline of his sweatshirt, and yanked him closer to her. Her other hand slid up into his hair, parting the wet strands and trailing her nails over his scalp until he shuddered. His arms flew around her waist, pulling her tight against his chest, his mouth opened—_oh, _so hot and wet and delicious!—and he pulled her lower lip between his teeth. A moan escaped her as she kissed him back, mouthing his upper lip, tracing it with her tongue, wrapping a desperate arm around his shoulders and tugging on his hair. _Closer. Come on, closer_.

He obeyed her silent plea; his hand slid up her back to pull the knot of her hair free of its bun and down around her neck. His grip was desperate, his tongue slipping eagerly between her teeth and stroking the roof of her mouth, and she whined. Calloused fingers stroked the smooth skin of the nape of her neck and she wriggled closer, holding him tight.

"_Ahem._"

The blurry back of her mind recognized Thomas' huffy cough even as she ran her fingernails over Tom's scalp again and twisted her head to suck his tongue deeper into her mouth. He was more than happy to oblige. His hand traced her back from shoulder-blades to hips in smooth, warm strokes that mimicked the movement of that truly _incredible _tongue.

A piercing wolf-whistle cut through her mind, but she only wrapped both arms around Tom's neck. Her chest was burning with lack of oxygen, but she stubbornly held on, dropping a peck on his lower lip before finally, reluctantly, pulling away. When her eyes opened, she was staring directly up into glazed ice-blue orbs. His chest was heaving against hers, his lips bruised and deep red, glistening. His hair was thoroughly, delightfully ruffled, and his arm was tight as steel around her waist. His grin matched her own.

"For the record," she said, made bold by the dazed expression on his face. "I enjoyed that."

"Funnily enough, I think I got that message loud and clear." he rasped. With difficulty, he removed his fingers from her hair and traced them along the lines of her cheek instead. "And I know I enjoyed it as well."

"Really?" It seemed ridiculous to ask, when his pupils were darkening more with every second he held her, but she took immense pleasure in the speed of his nod.

"Well, ahem." He straightened somewhat, cleared his throat, but didn't let go of her. She didn't release him. "Miss Sybil Crawley, it has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, indeed."

She blushed bright red. His grin was crooked, blissfully lopsided and wonderfully cheeky.

"It's Lady Crawley, actually." Thomas piped in.

"Lady?" Tom's eyebrows skyrocketed.

"No." Sybil said firmly. "Well…no, I'm not discussing that. Right now. Not now. No, definitely not now, no—"

"You're babbling." he remarked unhelpfully, smiling.

"Well, my brain's a bit scrambled at the moment, do excuse me!"

His lips curled upwards in a genuine smile. Dropping his head, he knocked his forehead gently against hers. His nose brushed hers. "So's mine."

And just when she thought she couldn't blush any redder…

"Well, Sybil Crawley, would you do me the honor of allowing me to make your acquaintance more…thoroughly?"

"Thoroughly?"

"I was thinking of come method involving coffee…a bookstore…conversation?"

Her heart leapt upwards, pulling a smile into her cheeks. "Were you?"

"Mmm-hmmm." His fingertips tickled her jawline. "After your test tomorrow, of course."

"Wow." Slipping free of his arms, she stood on tiptoe to retrieve her book and notebook, tucked her pen behind her ear, and crammed her phone into the pocket of her overlarge sweater. "Smart, a very talented kissed, interested in actual dates, and considerate."

"Amazing that he's still single, isn't it?" Thomas remarked from behind the camera.

"You forgot to mention my good lucks." Tom quipped, offering Sybil his arm. She couldn't contain the grin spreading across her cheeks.

"So I did."

"You shouldn't even bother—you're the good-looking one in this pair." Tom said firmly, flicking the tip of her nose with his forefinger. "And the smart one…and the excellent kisser."

"Enough, I'm getting a cavity just listening to you." Thomas groaned. Tom smiled vaguely at him.

"Enjoy _Doctor Who_ tonight, Thomas. I'm buying Sybil Crawley a cup of coffee and a snack, then I shall remain at her command for the rest of the evening's activities."

"I hope you're flexible, then." Thomas said, rolling his eyes. "Because I've seen her in yoga, and my God—"

"And why should we be flexible when _studying very hard_ for a _very important exam_, Thomas?" Tom demanded through his teeth. His eyes were narrowed in a warning.

"I think I've discovered a new euphemism." Sybil winked at Thomas, grinning as Tom's cheeks flushed. His body, pressed lightly against her side, hardened.

"Come on, I'm getting you away from Thomas before we enter the cheaply crude section of the conversation." he said, pulling her onwards. As they passed the camera, he slipped his hand into Thomas' pocket, withdrew two slips of paper, and waved them before Sybil's nose. "What do you think—next Friday, McHann Hall, U2?"

"And when I go there, I'll go there with you." she said with a wink. Thomas slammed his forehead against the camera. Quickening their strides, Tom Branson and Sybil Crawley strode down along the pavement through the spitting rain towards—Chinese? Gangrene? _Doctor Who, _U2, and coffee dates? And oh, so very much more!

**A/N: see, this is (sort of) what we could have had, if not for the damned Fellowes. Look what a magnificent couple you destroyed, you evil overlord! LOOK! **

**Thank God for fanfiction, or we'd have gone collectively insane by Season Two. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this little excursion into the Branson-centric corner of my brain! Reviews are much appreciated!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: a thousand thank-yous to all the wonderful people who offered up truly gushing praise for the first chapter—I admit, it was only going to be a oneshot until I read all the please for an update, and thought **_**well, why not? All's fair in love and war, **_**and that's basically fandom life in a nutshell. I was a bit stuck, though, until the amazing yankeecountess gave me this idea—enjoy, darling! Much love to all, and happy reading!**

**And if you want to make me happy, review. Just a hint. Please. I'm not above shameless begging. **

"Your mind is a garbage can!"

"Oh, like you've never had a dirty thought in your life, Tom-Mr.-I'm-so-fucking-angelic-Branson!"

"That's not—"

"I _know_ that's not your middle name, give me some credit! We've been friends for three years, I _know _your middle name!"Thomas snapped, and Sybil fought back the urge to giggle. Across the table, Gwen grinned, cupping a hand over the earbud half-hidden amongst the strands of her choppy ginger hair.

"Told you I could do it." she whispered smugly, and Sybil stuck out her tongue. She supposed, in retrospect, that she shouldn't be surprised Gwendolyn Dawson knew how to tap a phone call.

"Oh, really?" Tom's voice buzzed through the earbuds. "Then what is my middle name?"

"…the _point_ at hand," Thomas snipped, and Gwen snorted. "Is that we are friends, _best_ friends—"

"—and you don't know my middle name."

"_—best—friends_, and I have a responsibility to look out for your wellbeing!"

"Wanting details about my private life with my—my—with Sybil isn't—"

"Your Sybil? 'S that what you call her?"

Gwen waggled her eyebrows and Sybil choked on her tea, grinning.

"—isn't any of your business!"

"Tommy, c'mon, I'm not allowed to be worried about you?"

"There's nothing to be worried about!"

"Tommy, look at it from my angle!" Thomas protested. "It's been three whole weeks since you first kissed her—and you owe me a brain bleach for _that_ display—"

Gwen pretended to fan herself.

"—you spend every day with her—"

_EVERY day _Gwen mouthed, nodding her head firmly at the look on Sybil's face.

"—you insist on spoiling her with tea and coffee and _cookies—"_

Gwen rolled her eyes, mouthing "nauseating".

"—you practically live in her flat, and yet you're telling me you haven't slept with her?" 

"I've slept with her! Same bed, same blanket, shared pillow—"

"IF NO ONE WAS NAKED THEN IT DOESN'T COUNT. Now before I tranq you and drag you to a doctor, once and for all, have you or have you not had sex with Sybil Crawley?"

"YES!" Tom bellowed into the phone.

_"AND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME?!"_ Thomas shrieked. Both girls winced as the sound rang in their ears. "DO I MEAN NOTHING TO YOU?"

"Do you tell _me_ every time _you _have sex?"

"If I did, you'd be even more depressed about your life than you already are." Thomas retorted.

"I'm not—"

"DETAILS. When, where, what position, on what piece of furniture, and who orgasmed first?"

"Jesus Christ."

"He's got nothing to do with it. TELL ME."

Both of the faces at the coffee table were the colour of strawberries; Sybil's from embarrassment, Gwen's from the effort of not laughing aloud.

"Library, second floor, against the H-through-G shelf, she did."

"Did she really?"

_ "Yes."_

Gwen waggled her eyebrows like a lothario, and Sybil felt her cheeks heating, even though she'd been through this story at least a dozen times already.

"Take it as a token of friendship that I believe you. Okay, kinky enough, I guess." Gwen pulled a face and shook her head emphatically. "Where else?"

"That's it."

"I _beg _your pardon."

"That's it. We've only had sex that one time."

"You're dating _Sybil Crawley_ and that's the most creative you can be? _One time?_ What's the matter with you?"

"She—"

"No, _she_ can't be the problem, she's totally fuckable. That rack? And those legs, God, they must feel fuck-awesome wrapped around—"

"Stop talking about her like she's a fucktoy." Tom hissed.

"Not if that's what it takes for you to pin her down on a mattress for hours on end. She deserves some love, you know!"

"Yeah, I know." Tom heaved a sigh so deep Sybil swore her earbud trembled, and she distinctly heard the squeak of their sofa. "That's just the problem."

For a long moment, silence reigned over the phone. Both girls straightened, Sybil biting her lower lip and Gwen swiftly reaching to squeeze her hand. This was what she'd been hoping to overhear. After two whole weeks of worry, her heart was pounding as though about to leap straight out of her chest. _Just tell me. Tell me what's wrong._

"Talk to me, Tommy." Thomas said softly, voicing Sybil's silent plea.

Tom let out a groan. "It was after her big test. She was so wired she was practically vibrating, and yeah, I've wanted her practically since I first saw her, so…but I figure she was just letting off steam, because she hasn't…approached me since."

_What? _

"But…I see you with her. You're always touching. She sits on your lap more than on a chair. You never stop playing with her hair. You're _typing_ notes now, just so you can hold her hand at all times. If this was primary school, we'd've had a wedding by now, daisy-flower-chains and all."

_…what?_

"She's not just—she's amazing, alright? There is literally nobody in the world who makes me feel the way she does. I mean—to say she's smart and funny and ambitious and gorgeous is the biggest feckin' understatement. I just…" His voice trailed off. Sybil stared at her fingers, mind tumbling like clothes in a dryer. Surely…surely she'd been obvious? With the touching, and the kissing, and the…hadn't she?

"Thomas?" Tom murmured into the phone. "What's his name?"

"Whose?" Thomas' voice was soft as a hand in a velvet glove, and Sybil didn't have to see him to know that there was a half-smile on his lips.

"The blond in your drama class." Tom said softly. "You're crazy about him, aren't you?"

"I—" Thomas' voice broke and he let out a cough. "Jimmy. His—" There was a definite sniff over the line, and his throat was thick. "His name is Jimmy."

"Then…then you know." Tom said quietly. "I'm in love with Sybil, Thomas. I'm so in love with her. And yeah, every time I see her I want to fling her down and make love to her for hours on end…" He sucked in a breath. "But I want her to see that she's not just sex to me. She's so much more than that. And there's no-one in this world more deserving of love than her, and I _love _her, Thomas, I do, and I know she couldn't possibly feel the same, but I'm with her now, and…and there's a chance she might. One day."

He fell silent for a long, long time. The only sound was the hitching rise and fall of his breath. "So I'll wait." he said at last, voice thick. "I'll wait until she's ready to bet on me. I'd—" Another deep breath. "I'd wait forever."

Sybil ripped the earbud out with trembling fingers. Over the rush of blood pounding through her veins, she felt Gwen's fingers squeeze her wrist. Gwen's other hand was pressed firmly over her own mouth and her eyes were sparkling.

"_Holy—shit." _she hissed, removing her own earbud. "You—he—_oh my God." _

"I—" Sybil swallowed hard, pressing her shaking fingers to her temple. "I didn't know."

"Oh, _sweetie._ Have you—I mean, do you—"

"I love him." Sybil nodded firmly, feeling fireworks explode over her skin. Those words felt so _right _in her mouth that she said it again, just to feel her lips shaping the phrase. "I love him, Gwen. I love him."

Gwen squealed and lunged across the table to fling her arms around her friend. A few other patrons shot glowers at the girls hugging in the middle of the coffee shop, but Sybil was too busy trying to keep her cup from overbalancing, hug Gwen, and sniff back the tears welling in her eyes to care.

"Okay, okay, you have to tell him." Gwen pulled back, but not too far. "Now. Today."

Sybil's head was still jerking like a bobble head. Gwen laughed. "Honey, you're _scarlet_." She pressed her mercifully cool palms to Sybil's burning cheeks. "He obviously didn't pick up on those hints of yours."

"I thought I was being so _obvious_." Sybil groaned. "I mean, I was playing footsie with him every time he sat down! And I always have my hand at his hip, by the hem of his sweater…how could he not pick up on that? _Of course_ I want him!"

Gwen snorted. "That might've been blatantly obvious to Larry the Prick—"

Sybil let out a groan at the name. "—but the two of you were so bloody _British_—"

"_You're _British." Sybil reminded her.

"—so _posh_, then! I mean, did you ever even _think_ about saying the word 'sex' to him?"

"You've spent the summer with me." Sybil scoffed. "You know the circles my family moves in. You know how much those people gossip. I could touch him on the shoulder _once_ and they'd assume I was pregnant with his child. We had no choice _but_ to be subtle."

"The problem is that Tom is _not_ subtle." Gwen said dryly. "I'm still sneezing after he brought you _two dozen carnations_ to congratulate you on your test."

Sybil smiled at the memory. "He's so anxious to do this right. He's always so courteous and gentlemanly and…sweet, really."

"Because he's trying to show you how much he loves you." Gwen reminded her, and Sybil buried her face in her arms to muffle the squeal rising in her throat. "SO. Show me how you've been, um…_hinting_ at him."

"What, _here?"_

"What? You said it was subtle!"

"Gwen!"

"Do you want him to get the point, or not?"

Scrubbing her cheeks with her palms, Sybil collapsed against the back of her chair. Pinning her eyes to the far window, fighting the hot blush in her cheeks, she wriggled her foot under the table until it lay snugly against Gwen's. She curled her toes upwards to rest them against Gwen's ankle.

"That's _it?"_ Gwen demanded after a moment. "That's as far as you've gone?"

"Okay, it's not exactly third base—"

"Honey, you haven't even left the dugout!" Gwen flopped backwards in her seat. "Alright, _this_ is how you do it." She locked her eyes on Sybil's and very deliberately slid the arch of her foot over Sybil's toes, over her ankle, and inside the leg of her jeans, all the way up her calf. "Eye contact." she enunciated, poking Sybil with her toes. "Stare like you could telepathically lift him out of his seat and over to you."

Sybil pinched her temples with her forefingers.

"Sweetie…" Gwen's eyes, when Sybil met them once more, were kind. "You're allowed to show him. No one will think less of you—and if they do, they're sexist assholes. You're in love with an incredible guy who loves you and wants you too. Showing him how much _you_ want him is your God-given right."

Sybil smiled. "You're the best friend in the universe."

"You can pay for my pizza tomorrow night, after you fuck Tom into a mattress." Gwen said briskly. "Now c'mon, show me your skills, woman! We're not leaving this café until you're prepared to seduce the pants off your Irishman!"

She shut the front door, tossed her keys into the tray on the hall table, and took a breath. Her flat was tiny, only one room where the kitchenette, a battered sofa, a coffee table, and a small TV were crammed together, with a door leading to her bedroom and bathroom off to the right, so from where she stood on the threshold, she could clearly see Tom sitting on the sofa, feet propped on the coffee table, frowning at his laptop screen while his fingers flew over the keys. The soft glow of mid-afternoon light whispered along the edge of the sofa and the windowsill, kissing the honey-dark strands of his hair and bringing out the gold sparks of the stubble lining his cheeks. It took a moment for him to glance away from his work, but his eyes lit up when he saw her and he smiled, open-mouthed, in that crookedly adorable way of his.

"Hi, gorgeous." he murmured.

"Hi, handsome." Striding over to the couch, she bent to press a kiss to his lips. He was warm and sleepy, tasting strongly of tea and caramels, stuffing his fist into his mouth as he yawned, pulling away.

"Sorry," he mumbled, scrubbing at his eyes.

"Don't be." Kicking off her shoes, she circumnavigated the sofa and plopped down in the other corner. She couldn't even feel disappointment at his exhaustion, she was working too hard not to beam at the sight of him. _You love me. You love me. You love me. _"What's got you so tired?"

"Oh, Thomas rang while you were out." he yawned again. "Some drama about that boy he's in love with."

She shivered at the sound of _that word_ on his lips. "Really?" she asked, arching one eyebrow. "Any developments?"

"Hasn't spoken a bloody word to him apart from 'hey'." he sighed, shaking his head like a dog trying to get water out of his ears and refocusing on his screen. "We talked for almost two hours…and now I can barely even read this…"

"Is that your essay for Connors?"

"Yeah. It's due in two days." He squinted at the screen, brow furrowing as he reread a few sentences.

She chewed on her bottom lip, feeling the pulse leap up and down against her neck. _Two options,_ Gwen had said. _Either pounce on him and save the talking until after the orgasms, or get the scary communication over with before the clothes come off. Either way, you are telling him tonight, and you are having sex tonight, or I will do something drastic. _She was lucky Gwen hadn't sent her home with a few extra crates of condoms as a hint.

She swallowed. Option Two was becoming increasingly likely, as the minutes ticked by and his eyes never wavered from his work, though one hand had dropped to wrap around her ankle when her toes burrowed beneath his thigh for warmth. They'd touched like that a million times before, and it never failed to make her skin twitch and shiver. She was practically wriggling in her seat.

_Okay, you can do this. Just…just say something. Anything. _

"Um…" _Not that._ "I—" She fixed her eyes on a tassel of the pillow cradled in her arms, winding the strings around and around her fingers. "I've never really…dated much. It's really just been you, and—and one other. And—you know me, so much better than—than anyone does, I think. You know me better than my _father_—" she snorted. "—though that's not hard. And you—you know what type of people I come from, what kind of background…"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that he'd lifted his head and was listening, but she kept her eyes on the red wool. "Tom, you—you know I had—I had a boyfriend. Larry. I was seventeen when we got together. We'd been…he'd been sweet on me since I was little. And we…we spent the summer together, before I came to uni. And we were…we—" _For God's sake, you're a nurse. You can say this!_ "We had sex. I mean, we were a couple of horny teenagers; of course we had sex. But we had to be careful. Subtle. And when we were out, in public together, people would talk. All the time. They made a fuss about holding hands. So we never did anything overt. We'd hint to each other that we were—in the mood—with the most subtle ways possible."

She heaved a breath. "So when we—when you and I were in the library, all those weeks ago—well, it was the best sex I've ever had, one." _Easy to admit—rower's muscles should never be underestimated._ "And I've been hinting to you that I want that, that I want to be intimate with you, ever since, but I guess you didn't pick it up because I was hinting the way I know how to, and that's pretty damn subtle, but you're not subtle and oh God I told Gwen about it because I didn't know what to do and we tapped your phone when you talked to Thomas today and heard everything and I didn't know you're in love with me but Tom darling I'm I love you too I love you so much and I'm betting on you I'll always bet on you you don't have to wait forever I love you."

She gasped for breath, wishing she could fall through the floor and into a pool of acid. _Oh God…and after he was so damned eloquent about it too…God, I'm such an idiot…_

"You…" His voice died and she stared hard at the pillow, screwing up the courage to look him in the face and oh he was staring at her and his eyes were like a child's seeing the sun for the first time.

He slapped his laptop shut, set it on the coffee table, and stood in one fluid motion. She opened her mouth and barely managed to breath for speech when his lips crash-landed onto hers and maybe her mouth was bruised but who could care and he pulled back _way too soon_

"I love you." he whispered, and his lips brushed hers as he spoke. Lightning crackled up her spine and she didn't try to hide the smile bursting across her mouth.

"I love you." A laugh escaped her. "Tom, I love you."

His grin was _gorgeous_. His hands tightened around her waist and he straightened abruptly, swinging her up and tossing her easily over one shoulder, laughing as she yelped in surprise. "Tom!"

"You said I wasn't subtle." he reminded her, marching towards their bedroom door.

"You really aren't." She was laughing and her breath huffed across the skin at the small of his back where his t-shirt had ridden up and his heart was bursting with happiness.

"I love you." he said, just to feel those words bouncing aloud around their flat, rather than whispered into her hair as she slept.

"I love you too." she said, and he felt her smile against his skin.

He kicked the bedroom door open and tossed her onto the bed. She giggled again, grinning up at him with eyes sparkling and cheeks rosy, lower lip tugged between her teeth so invitingly that he just had to duck in and kiss her again and feel her smile against his mouth. Her mouth opened for him immediately and her arms wound around his neck, fingers stroking through his hair as he cupped her cheek in his hand and pulled her closer with a hand on her waist and tasted that sweet taste once more God there was nothing in the world as perfect as kissing Sybil Crawley.

She hooked her feet around his legs, keeping him close, and he lavished kissed on her mouth, sucking those rosy lips crimson and slipping his hands beneath her shirt to feel the satiny smoothness of her sides. When he coaxed the fabric upwards, she wrestled it off over her head, barely leaving his mouth for a second to rip the shirt away and then dive back in, sucking his tongue into her mouth and tangling it with hers, moaning as her fingers scrabbled with his own t-shirt. He groaned long and low and pulled back to tug the shirt over his head and her hands flew to his belt buckle. She had the zipper down in a flash and her little hand slipped into his underwear and pulled out his cock before the breath could punch in a moan out of his throat. He let out a hoarse cry as she kissed the tip, punctuating the caress with a firm stroke, and darted her tongue over the slit.

"Syb—stop, stop." he rasped, tangling his fingers in her hair. She looked up at him, deep blue eyes so blue, resting her cheek on his hipbone. The sight of the tip of his cock resting against the corner of that coy little smile almost killed him on the spot, but he managed to string a few words together. "Unless you want this to be over way too quickly—stop."

She considered for a moment. "Raincheck." she suggested, kissing the tip again and grinning as his hips bucked towards her. She settled back onto her elbows, all sin and sweetness in torn jeans and a lacy blue bra. "Let's have you pound me into this bed first, then we'll see whether I can fit all of that cock into my mouth."

He groaned and half-fell atop her, crushing his mouth to her desperately and rolling onto his side, pulling her with him, to wrap his arms around her. She was scratching at his scalp and pressing her fingers into his back and shoulders as if she could pull him into her. He'd go, gladly.

She was licking stripes along his neck and his cock was straining for release _already_—Christ, he'd been fighting arousal ever since he relived that first time with her over the phone—when he unhooked her bra, pulled the straps down her arms, and _finally_ got his mouth on those pretty, pointed nipples. He plunged from one to the other with quick kisses and bites and licks, rolling her onto her back once more and reveling in the ragged cries wringing from her throat. Licking steadily around her left breast and groaning just to feel her shudder beneath him, he unfastened her jeans and slid his hand into her underwear.

"My, how the tables have turned." she panted, in her 'Southern belle' accent, before he cut her off with one finger sinking slowly into her. He ground his teeth and screwed up his fist into the sheets because _fuck_ she was so wet for him already, taking his finger up to the knuckle immediately. He chanced a second finger, and she clenched around his digits, hips bucking.

"_God_, you feel good…so good…" she whimpered, pressing her face into his chest. "_Tom…_"

He pressed softly on her clit with his thumb and she spasmed hard against him. "Nononono, stop, _stop_, I—_Tom—_I want to come with you. With you in me."

"I won't last long." he warned her, already slipping his fingers free and cursing as her hips instinctively tried to swivel back towards them. "Really—it's been too long, and I've wanted you _forever…"_

"We have all night." she panted, kissing his collarbone. "Please—I'm dying, I need you in me."

He nodded, mouthing at her neck. "Wonder…how many we can try tonight."

She giggled, groping in the side drawer of the bedside table. "How many orgasms, or how many positions? Because I don't mean to brag, but, well, _yoga._"

"Rowing." he retaliated, sitting up and tugging at her jeans. "How do you get these _on_ in the morning."

Laughing outright, she straightened her legs and rested her ankles on his shoulders. "Pull."

The denim peeled away bit by bit, exposing all that lovely creamy skin that made his teeth _hurt _with not biting them. Holding the condom in her teeth, she dropped her legs on either side of his hips, pulled herself up, and yanked at his own jeans.

"Do you have any idea how sexy you are?" he wondered. She glanced up through a tangle of dark eyelashes and curly hair and winked. "Fuck, Syb…"

"Mmm, you're not so bad yourself." she mumbled around the package as he finally kicked the jeans away. He answered with a hot, slick press of lips against hers, biting down on the foil and tugging it out of her mouth. "Oh, _God…_"

His hands were shaking as he tore open the packet, and she would've reached to help if her own weren't jumping in his hair as though she'd been electrocuted. Maybe she had. Her skin was prickling deliciously all over and her core throbbed. The sheets were _wet_ beneath her and she ached so badly for him that waiting as he rolled the condom down onto his cock was torture. She flopped backwards, trying to put some small distance between them when all she wanted to do was pull him closer. Her skin felt searing hot as it brushed against his.

"So intense." she whispered, licking her lips. "It's so intense now."

"I love you." he replied, holding her gaze, and she wriggled.

"I love you too." she said, and his eyes softened. "Now—" She crooked a finger at him. "C'mere, Lover Boy."

He snorted with laughter, crawling over her to slip his tongue into her mouth and slide inside her with one smooth push that had her crying out and wrapping both legs tightly around his waist. "Oh, _God."_

"He's got nothing to do with it." he mumbled, biting her lip, and she giggled helplessly, happy and laughing and feeling tears of joy stinging her eyes. "_Sybil…"_

She threaded the fingers of one hand with his and buried the other in his hair, tightening her legs around him and rolling her hips until they both cursed, stars exploding behind their eyelids. "I love you…"

"I love you…"

"I love you…"

"I love you…"

"I love…"

"_Sybil."_

**A/N: a tasteful fadeout of music and the camera pans over to the view of the sunset outside their window, leaving the reader (hopefully) sighing or squealing or grinning from ear to ear—all of which the writer is currently doing. Don't judge. **

**Reviews are my favourite thing after all of you **** Come hang out with me on tumblr and tell me what you thought!**


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